Hi, friends. Hope you're doing well! It's been a minute.
A quick little A/N here: I've edited the first 20 chapters of this fic and you'll find that my replies to reviews and A/Ns are gone. I know some people enjoyed those, but I'm trying to clean up the story a bit and make it more polished.
Thanks for sticking with me! I'll be bringing you more plot shortly!
Warnings: Bad language, violent thoughts, and a long break from writing that has hurt my skill level tremendously.
Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroko no Basuke.
September
God, she hoped she never woke up. After the week of shit she'd had, Hana deserved this dream.
Tucked away in a cloud of velvet, she was encircled by puppies of all shapes and sizes. They were curled close to her chest, snuggled into her hair, and lazing over her legs. Everywhere she turned, she was engulfed by the cuddly, fluffy scent of a well-washed puppy. Smiling into her pillow, Hana tugged one of the dream puppies to her, tucking it under her chin with a sleepy coo.
"Ima-chan," The puppy nuzzled against her cheek. A sandpaper tongue liked her chin, "Ima-chan! Wake up!"
"Shh, it's okay," Hana rubbed a hand over the dream puppy's back. Its soft fur molded into her palm, "Go to sleep."
It was so warm. All she had to do was roll over and snuggle into the puppies then everything would be okay. So close, I'm so close. Her breath evened out and warmth spread from her toes up to her knees. She was almost there, only a few more minutes of silence—
"Ima-chan!"
Well, that jolted her out of dreamland.
Blinking crusty eyes open, Hana tried to understand why her puddle of adorable puppies had been replaced by twisted blankets and yelling. I'd rather be in a coma, thanks. Throwing a hand over her face, Hana groaned as reality began to sink back in. God, whoever was screaming better hope she got a cup of coffee in her hands soon.
"Ima-chan! You have to wake up," that was Momoi, which didn't make much sense given the fact that this was Hana's bedroom, "We need to talk. Girl to girl."
Oh, god no. Her sleepy groan turning into a full-out whine, Hana slapped at the blankets covering her chest, "Momoi? Why?"
Why would you wake me up so early on such a godforsaken morning?
"I want to start by saying I'm not angry," Momoi began, her feet pacing over Hana's carpeted floor with an odd shuffling sound, "I'm not angry, but I'm definitely not happy—"
"Wah?" Hana struggled to sit up, sleep hindering her movements and her brain function. Screw this, "What are we talking about?"
She blinked at the shadow stalking through her room. Momoi's hair was tied up in an unusual bun and she wore sweatpants instead of her usual skirt. Frantic energy had her hands moving and she was marching around Hana's room with a purpose. Oh, god. What have I woken up to?
The last thing Hana remembered was crashing into bed after dealing with Aomine's emotional turmoil. It'd been what— five hours? What could have possibly gone wrong in five hours?
"I always thought you guys were close," Momoi continued without pause, "So I'm not surprised he likes you. I just don't understand why you didn't tell me—"
What. Hana blinked, scrubbing at her face as she tried to put words together, "What are we talking about?"
Ignoring the interruption, Momoi waved a hand toward Hana's rumpled bed, "I thought you would at least tell me when he started liking you. He says it's been years! Years, Ima-chan! Why haven't you told me anything?"
"Uh," she failed to speak, "What?"
"Look, it doesn't matter! I'm mad, but I'm not just mad at you," Momoi stalked around the bed before placing her arms on the edge of the mattress. Leaning toward Hana, she raised a threatening finger, "But know this, Ima-chan! I'm not giving up! I love him too!"
Oh, so that's what this is about. Good to know. Straightening out her sleeping shirt and making sure she wasn't flashing Momoi any of the goods, Hana nodded in lethargic encouragement, "That's great, Momoi. I'll do you one better— you can have them."
That's what girlfriends do, right? It's girl code or something. Let thy bitch have thy man? Whatever, it didn't really matter to Hana right now. She'd sell her left leg if it meant she could go back to sleep, never mind handing over a couple of troublesome crushes. Shit, at this point, Momoi would be doing her a favor.
Momoi didn't appear to share the same sentiment. Her pacing had halted at Hana's offer, stunned silence turning the room between them into an awkward war ground.
"Them?" Momoi repeated slowly, her face stuck between disbelief and horror. At least her fists finally unclenched, "What do you mean them?"
"Kise and Midorima," Hana yawned, crawling out of bed. Peering over the floor, she tried to locate her missing pants, but no such luck. Momoi would just have to deal with some panty flashing, "I don't which one you're talking about, but you can have them. I'm good, dude. They're yours."
"Ki-kun and Mido-chan," Momoi repeated, again, "Ima-chan—"
Waving off her perceived gratitude, Hana stumbled to the bathroom with another long yawn, "I don't think it's anything serious with me, you know, so shouldn't be a problem," the door shutting behind her was followed by the sound of a toilet flushing, "Kise is kind of clingy though, so watch out."
Maybe when she was better awake, she'd regret this. It'd be awkward in the future for sure, but in the long run, Momoi was probably better for both miracles. She seemed to have her shit straight at least and probably knew the difference between friendship and lust better than she did.
"Ima-chan—" Momoi finally whined, plopping her head into her hands with a groan, "I'm not talking about Ki-kun and Mido-chan."
Damn, thought I'd solved this. Popping her head out the door, Hana frowned, "Is it Taiga?" Taking Momoi's whine as agreement, her nose scrunched, "Ew, man. You can do so much better than that. Don't lower your standards."
"Ima-chan— Hana!" Momoi squeaked in outrage as Hana went back into the bathroom, "I'm talking about Tetsu-kun!"
Well, that wasn't what Hana expected to hear.
Uhm, what. Situated in front of her mirror, Hana froze with her toothbrush halfway in her mouth.Oh no, oh no, no, no. Spitting the mess of toothpaste out, Hana ran a hand over her face. Momoi did not just say what Hana thought she did. Not another involuntary love confession!
This was bad, this was so very bad.
"Tell me your shitting, Momoi," Hana ordered as she stepped out of the bathroom and collapsed on the bed next to her friend. Screw personal hygiene for the moment, "Tell me Tetsuya did not say anything like that to you, please god."
What would possess that idiot boy to be so damn stupid? He knew Momoi had a crush on him, why would he— He had to be lying. God, it just didn't make sense. Is that why he'd asked to walk her home last night? Shit. Talk about lack of tact, Tetsuya.
"He did," Momoi's tone was morose, but determined, "You— you really didn't know he liked you?"
"I mean, I don't think so? I don't want all those feelings," Hana slapped her hands over her eyes. There had been a few close encounters where Hana had worried she'd fallen for him, but never the other way around, "I know you like him; I know that. Damnit."
Watching Hana's chest rise and fall, Momoi pulled a thoughtful expression. There was still an irritated furrow between her dainty pink brows, but the simmering angry she'd been holding onto throughout the night began to falter. She knew her friends would never intentionally try to hurt her and frankly, this revelation had been a long time coming.
That didn't make the sting hurt any less though, "… Do you like Tetsu-kun too?"
"I don't know! I didn't think so, but—" Hana grumbled. She'd prefer to be swallowed by Chtulu than continue this conversation, "It's bullshit, man! It's like Teiko all over again. I wanted this shit to go away."
"Like Teiko?" Momoi questioned, suspicions proven, "You felt like this in Teiko too?"
"No, yes, I don't know! I don't date, Momoi! I thought it was just friendship, but now it feels weird," Hana patted at her chest with a scowl, "Like I'm excited to see them and that's not normal! I don't like them anymore!" Crawling to a sitting position, Hana reached out and grabbed Momoi's hand, "I'll make it go away. I can compartmentalize shit like no one else—"
The offer was all well and good, but that wasn't the part that snagged Momoi's attention. "Ima-chan," Momoi spoke slowly. Her focus was on Hana's hand, but there was a strange crinkle at the corner of her eye, "Can you elaborate what you mean about it being a 'them'?"
Hana winced and fought the urge to curl into the fetal position. Busted.
"Well, I'm pretty sure it's a 'them' because I feel this way about a couple people," she tried to explain, cringing as Momoi's mouth popped open, "Look it's probably just friendship, okay? I've been freaking out over this for a while and I've probably ramped it all up in my head."
"You said Ki-kun and Mido-chan, though," Momoi counted the names on two fingers, "Add in Tetsu-kun and that makes three. How many people are we talking about here?"
"Uhm, six-ish? Maybe seven?" Hana eventually admitted, "I haven't, uhm, ironed out all the details."
The silence that spread between the duo tasted like fear. Rolling onto her stomach, Hana peered up at Momoi, torn between begging for forgiveness for something she wasn't sure she understood or trying to explain further. Please don't let this be the end, please don't let this be the end—
"Ima-chan, get some pants on," plopping her hands on the bed, Momoi stared down at her in mild bemusement, "I think you're in trouble."
xXx
Momoi's solution to trouble apparently meant girl-time therapy hours.
Nestled on Momoi's living room couch with a steaming mug of coffee in her hands, Hana realized she could vibe with these so-called therapy hours. There was still a lingering air of awkwardness hanging between the two friends, but it wasn't enough to stifle out any conversation.
Allowing Momoi to demolish her in Mario Kart was also probably helping the situation.
"Okay, so explain to me how this even happened," Hana commanded, scrolling through the avatars and eventually landing on her main gal, Toadette. She was equally unsurprised and delighted to see Momoi choose Princess Peach as her main. Girl power unite.
"It was last night," Momoi explained, biting her lip into her mouth as she scrolled through the different race tracks, "After he walked me back, we started talking and somehow it just came out. I'll be honest," Momoi snorted out a chuckled as she selected Rainbow Road, "I thought he was about to confess to me."
"Oof, awkward," Hana managed to offer, wincing at the lack of sympathy in her tone, "Want me to hit him for you?"
Though she couldn't see it, Hana could feel Momoi's eye roll, "A little late for that, Ima-chan."
She shrugged, "Better late than never."
That was the last of the conversation for several minutes. Hana could thank Mario Kart for that welcomed reprieve. It wasn't easy to discuss matters of the heart when you're busy trying not to get body-slammed off the road. Chancing a quick peek to her side, she spotted Momi leaning toward the television— fingers dragging over the controller with professional accuracy.
"You know," Hana admitted as she threw a banana onto the track, "We can share him."
"Share a boyfriend? Ima-chan," Momoi cut her a dry look, "That's a terrible idea."
Is it? Oops. Hana shrugged off the rebuttal, "Just a thought. I'm cool with being sister wives."
The way Momoi was able to smack her and keep her first place position was mildly inspiring, "Don't be silly. You'd make a terrible wife."
"Wow," Hana drawled, impressed, "That was rude."
"You know, I thought this would hurt more," Momoi laughed, an honest and airy sound, "But I think I'm okay? It's like I was in love with the idea of him. The perfect gentleman," Momoi's grin grew soft, "He'd always been kind to me, and I think I connected that to love without considering all the other factors."
"Is that not love?" Hana questioned, zooming around the rainbow curve, "I thought that was a pretty stereotypical description."
"No, I think love is more than that—" Momoi cursed as her car spun out, "I think its kindness, but it's also similarity and challenge. Tetsu-kun," her mouth twisted as she admitted, "He was easy to love, but he didn't challenge me."
"Dude, that was deep—" her fingers froze, "Did you just kill me?"
Momoi shrugged, a small grin tilting the curve of her cheek upward, "Well, you did steal my boyfriend. I think we're even now, Ima-chan."
"I didn't—" Hana sighed, shoulders slumping, "You know what, fine. I accept those terms."
"I'm glad you agree," Momoi cut her a sharp grin, "Want to grab some drinks while I finish this?"
Well, that wasn't subtle at all. Hana raised a brow, but pushed herself off the loveseat anyway, "I feel like you're milking this, just a smidge."
"Just a smidge," Momoi agreed with a wink. Her attention was quickly wrangled back to the game when she was nearly jostled out of her number one spot, "There's some juice in the fridge!"
The force of Hana's eyes rolling nearly sent her stumbling against the couch's edge. Ignoring Momoi's resulting giggle, she waved off her friend and meandered down the hall toward the kitchen. Flicking the light on, Hana took a chance to admire the pristine living area. Talk about clean, she whistled.
Walking into the kitchen almost felt like she was contaminating it. Hana was scared to step on anything at all, even the floor. Everything from the ceiling to the tile was stark, freshly cleaned white. I feel like I've died and gone to hell. Scanning the room for the fridge, Hana made sure to step over the woven rug lying in the middle of the floor.
"Be just my damn luck to get mud on it," she muttered to herself while she propped the refrigerator door open with her hip, "Momoi! Want apple or orange juice?"
"Orange, please!"
"Two orange it is," grabbing the cans, Hana let the refrigerator close soundlessly behind her. Her eyes scanned over the kitchen again, this time spotting a mass of color sitting on the counter. Without really considering the social implication, Hana peered down at the magazine, "Is that—" she sputtered, "Porn?"
"It's Dai-chan's!" Momoi yelled from the living room, "I promise!"
Well, Hana didn't doubt that. She figured busty middle-aged women weren't Momoi's cup of tea, but guess you could never know for certain. A little peek wouldn't hurt. Dropping the juice on the counter, Hana tentatively picked the first page of the magazine up and peered inside.
"Oh, wow," she blinked at the full-body image, "That is something."
Not overly interested in deeply examining the model's anatomy, Hana flipped through a couple more pages in relative interest. It wasn't her cup of tea, but she couldn't say anything too terrible about it. Books were still her favorite though.
The next page she flipped to apparently had a leaflet inside of it, the thick paper getting stuck on the magazine's shiny surface as she flipped pages. Picking it up and planning to stick it in the back of the book, Hana gave it a cursory glance before stopping dead in her tracks.
"Are you kidding me," she deadpanned, staring at the familiar faces printed on the sheet, "Are you honestly shitting me?"
Momoi took that moment to poke her head into the room, frowning at the paper held between her fingers, "Where's the juice— is that a picture?"
"Yup," Hana drawled before she flipped to the next page and picked up another one. She raised a dubious brow in Momoi's direction, "Did you know Aomine kept pictures of us in his porno mags?"
"Us? As in us?" Momoi darted across the kitchen to see, only to release a sigh of relief, "Okay, it's all of us. That's not so bad."
"Momoi," Hana blinked, "He's keeping copies of your team photo in his porn."
Despite the alarming possibilities of that phrase, Momoi merely waved her off. She snatched her unopened can of juice before retreating, "It's not just our team. There's the one with you in there too."
She stared at the other manager, "Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because it doesn't."
"Dai-chan's weird sometimes, Ima-chan," Momoi propped her hip against the nearest cupboard and sighed, "He doesn't like people to know he's vulnerable. Sure, it's a weird hiding spot, but it makes sense."
"But—" Hana's complaint trailed off, "We have phones?"
The blatant worry in Hana's comment made Momoi snort into her drink, "He's sentimental, Ima-chan."
"Aomine. Sentimental," Hana repeated, "Right."
Not the best adjective for Aomine Hana could think of, but she figured it worked in a pinch. He sure did know how to hold a grudge after all.
"I know you don't want to believe me and I know Dai-chan can be an ass," Momoi popped her empty can into the garbage, "But he really cared about all of us. If he didn't, he wouldn't have kept the pictures." She gave her a nostalgic smile, "I bet he even wrote the dates on them."
Left alone in the kitchen, Hana stared down at the photos grasped between her hands. There was one of just the first string team, Kise and Kuroko included, but the other one was taken during lunch. All of them were tucked into the tiny frame and from what she could tell, Aomine had locked his arms around both her and Momoi's shoulders.
Hana swallowed the burn that built in her throat. She hadn't seen him smile like that in a long, long time.
She flipped the photo over almost warily.
"November 20th, Imamura's Birthday," Hana nearly groaned, the sudden weight atop her chest more than her heart could handle, "Aomine— what the hell."
God, Momoi was right.
Hana was in trouble.
x
Rakuzan High School
The chime of his phone's alarm echoed through the empty classroom.
Pausing with his hand raised, Akashi gently placed the rook he'd been about to move back onto the shoji board. Heterochromatic eyes flickered lazily to the noise and a quiet wash of air left his throat. He hadn't realized the time had passed so swiftly. Pulling the object from the pocket of his Rakuzan blazer, he observed the contact information with growing interest.
"Aka-chin," Murasakibara's droll tone sank through the open air of the room as he clicked open the call, "You were right about Mura-chin."
A slow smile crept over the curve of Akashi's cheek. The smooth metal of his cellphone cooled the skin against his ear, "I see. How was our former acquaintance, Atsushi?"
"Grumpy," Murasakibara sighed, the sound of candy wrappers crumbling over the line, "Her team's annoying. They're loud and talk too much. They're weak," a suspicious crunching noise echoed from the phone, "Mura-chin could do better."
Dry autumn air sank in through the open window as Akashi digested the provided information. Leaves from a nearby cheery tree jostled, a bird cawing as it leaped into the sky. Leaning back in his seat, he allowed his stare to navigate over the shadowed classroom, "And Tetsuya?"
"He's the same. Annoying," Murasakibara sighed like the admission pained him. It was much more likely he'd run out of snacks, "Kuro-chin only wants to talk about basketball and his partner is ugly."
"Kagami Taiga, correct?" Akashi hummed, one lithe finger toying with the lancer piece on his shoji board, "Does he present a problem?"
The line went silent, only the sound of Murasakibara's chewing breaking the calm. His former teammate swallowed before admitting, "I don't like him. Mura-chin calls him Taiga."
Akashi's hand stilled, "Does she?"
That was an unexpected variable. He'd anticipated dissent, but this wasn't something he'd prepared for. A faint taint of scorn built between his brows. Imamura's ability to befriend the most unlikely sorts was something he'd once admired and intended to use to his advantage, but now it introduced variables into an equation he'd already solved.
"Yeah, it's annoying. He calls her Hana," Murasakibara admitted, his tone going dark, "Mura-chin lets him."
Akashi's lips pulled tight. The change would have to be eliminated, "And Tetsuya?"
"Same thing," there was a grunt before Murasakibara elaborated, "It's not as annoying though. Kuro-chin isn't ugly."
"I see," Akashi allowed his permission to trail off into a hum of suspicion. His fingers tapped on the school desktop, neat nails clacking against the silent air, "How do you feel about our former teammates, Atsushi? Are you concerned about their loyalty?"
He didn't speak for a moment and there was a distinct lack of noise to suggest his former teammate was eating. When Murasakibara finally did answer the question, there was a heavy note of concern in his admission, "Kuro-chin listens, but Mura-chin—"
The rest of Murasakibara's statement hung in the air, unfinished. It served him fine. Akashi already knew what he'd intended to say. Kuroko's loyalty was a strong feature of his upstanding moral code and there was little Akashi or any of his teammates could do to lose that favor. Even now, Kuroko fought for their perceived benefit in the misguided effort to prove their ideals wrong.
That was not an assumption he could extend toward Imamura.
"Don't worry, Atsushi," Akashi moved his attention back to his forgotten shoji match, a slow smile spearing the area between his cheeks with dark mirth. He pinched the rook piece between two fingers, "I understand."
After all, a Shoji board is composed of rectangles laying in a grid of nine ranks and nine files.
Within this board, pieces are meticulously set out and played against each other. Kings hold the reign of the board but are trapped to move one square at a time. Their golden generals suffer the same affliction with the added benefit of being unable to move backward. Silver generals were stuck to forever move diagonally, against the current of battle, while knights were free to jump obstacles that lay in their way.
Then there were the pawns— the beings who could only move one step forward as their master commanded.
They had no power in the grand scheme of battle, yet with the benefit of their perceived weakness, they proved unpredictable. If one was not the master of the pawn, they would be unable to control it— and that was a fact Akashi Seijuro could not allow within the divided members of his playing board. Slim pale fingers moved the rook forward, capturing the vulnerable pawn who laid separate from its king.
If it could not be controlled, it would have to be taken.
Shutoku High School
The tell-tale ring of his phone jerked Midorima out of his musings.
Wringing a damp towel through his hair, Midorima scowled at his backpack as they finished up practice. He had absolutely no desire to deal with whatever ruckus Kise was no doubt texting him about now. He'd lost track of his lucky item during their last scrimmage and it'd left him in a sour mood. Plucking his glasses off, he wiped the towel over his brow with a disgusted sigh.
"Jeeze," Takao stretched, his face pulling tight as the muscle in his back strained in forewarning. His face was an alarming shade of pink, "Cut us some slack, captain! I feel like my legs are about to fall off!"
"Suck it up, Takao!" Kimura smacked him on the shoulder as he went toward the changing room, "You gotta keep up!"
"Me?! What about Shin-chan! He didn't do any extra drills—" Takao blinked, looking for said player. Grey eyes scanned the court before he spotted his partner kneeling by his unzipped backpack, "What are you looking at?"
"None of your concern," Midorima snapped, flipping open his phone as it rang again.
He eyed the caller before a frown creased his brows. Akashi. That shouldn't be happening yet. There were certain times when Akashi reached out to his former teammates, but they hadn't planned for another meeting until the Winter Cup.
"Akashi Seijuro?" Takao peered over his shoulder, dancing out of the way when Midorima tried to smack him, "That's one of your old teammates, right? The captain? What does he want?"
"I'm not sure," Midorima eventually admitted, pushing his glasses back up his nose, "I wasn't expecting this."
"Think it has something to do with Kuroko?" Bending at the waist, Takao watched Midorima hover over the answer button indecisively before allowing it to go to voicemail. His brows arched high at the silent insubordination, "He seemed to have some beef with you guys after joining Seirin."
"Akashi wouldn't care to check on Kuroko," Midorima trailed off, talking to himself as much as Takao. The phone didn't ring again, but a new message notification popped up on the screen shortly after, "It's likely to do with Imamura."
Takao blinked, once then twice, "Imamura-chan? What's he want with Seirin's manager?"
"I'm not certain," Midorima clicked the phone off without looking at the message. He could already feel the incoming headache, irritation and regret pulling the skin of his jaw tight as he stood, "This was bound to happen. I warned her against acting out."
Midorima didn't explain further. Tucking his phone into his pocket, he shook his head in distaste once before pulling his backpack over his shoulder. Powerful footsteps led him to the exit, Takao struggling to keep up with his pace.
"What? I thought you guys were just friends in middle school," Takao threw his hands up in exasperation. All this trouble over a cute little manager. Imamura-chan sure was something, "Why does your old captain care what she does, she's just a manager—"
"It isn't that," Midorima pinched the bridge of his brow, squeezing his eyes shut as he sighed, "She has more power than she should. Surely you've caught onto that."
"Imamura-chan? Power?" Takao coughed, a hesitant smile building without his consent, "Sure, she's trouble, but no offense, Shin-chan, I don't think we need to worry too much about little manager-chan."
It was the wrong thing to say. Judging from the way Midorima's jaw tensed, Takao had bridged a familiar topic of concern. His partner didn't stop to explain, forcing Takao to duck between the lingering players in order to keep pace with him. Midorima walked like he was on a mission, his hands tucked deep in his pockets and the faintest hint of a frown crinkling his brow.
"Oh, her again, huh?" One of the reserve-level seniors butted into the conversation when they passed. He smiled sharply, showcasing heavily braced teeth, "You talking about Seirin's manager, right?"
Before Takao had a chance to reply, another reserve player jumped into the conversation. He had his jersey wrapped around his neck, but it did little to hide his interested leer, "The little cute one? What was her name— Imashura? Oi, Takao, you know her, right?"
"Sure," Takao hedged, watching Midorima's back warily. He hadn't looked up from his phone, but his shoulders were stiff with irritation. He knew enough about his partner to know how thin of a line the reserve players were walking, "She's Shin-chan's friend."
"Midorima? He's got friends? Yeah, right," the older player needled, his grin turning sharp as he tried to snatch Takao's attention, "Come on, Takao, don't joke around. If you want her all to yourself, just say so."
"She's a cute little thing," his friend nudged him, a smirk growing between his dimpled cheeks as he taunted, "Feisty, but I can fix that," his focus fell on Midorima with something like glee, "Hey, Midorima, you texting her? Let me see—"
Before Takao could intercept, the younger reserve player was jogging up to Midorima's side. He opened his mouth once to tell them to back off, but he was too slow to stop the idiot from trying to snatch the phone out of Midorima's hands. Oh crap, oh crap.
The boy's sweaty fingers got just close enough to skim the metal before Midorima's iron glad grip wrapped around his wrist and squeezed.
"Don't touch me," Midorima spat, his taped fingers tightening marginally as his fellow teammate cursed, "You're disgusting."
"Careful, I think he has a crush," The other reserve player teased, but there was a hint of fear tugging at his layered arrogance. The previous leer he'd sported had slipped into a grimace, "Ain't that right, Midorima? You're always looking at her—"
Green eyes flashed toward the player, something dangerous sparking in their shadowed depth, "Do not talk about Imamura."
"You jealous, Midorima?" Like the idiot he was, the reserve player took a step forward, "Finally found something the Generation of Miracles can't have?"
Midorima didn't move. His fingers tightened over the player's wrist, the skin where their flesh connected stained white from the force of his grip. The expression painted over Midorima's face was just as concerning as his strength— empty dark-green eyes studied the player with something like malicious indifference as his mouth pressed into a narrow line, the skin around his jaw taut with rage.
Before anyone could spur the other further, the reserve player's head lurched forward— the basketball that just hit him rolling away harmlessly toward the door.
"Oops," Takao grinned, rubbing the back of his head innocently as all eyes turned toward him, "I guess my hand slipped!"
"What the hell—" the player snapped, "Takao—"
Midorima's scoff cut off the interruption, "Don't speak. You're worthless."
Hurling the player's wrist to the side, he stalked out of the gym. The two reserve players began to bicker with one another, curses directed primarily toward the fuming ace, but Takao focused his attention on Midorima's back. His shoulders were clenched tight and the phone he'd previously been ignoring was now firmly placed to his ear.
The gym door slammed open hard, the hinges squeaking at the unfair treatment as Midorima stalked out of the school.
Takao grimaced, maybe Shin-chan was right.
Maybe Imamura-chan did have power.
Kaijo High School
On a normal day, the screeching coming from the gym's rafters was little more than background music.
Kise winced when another high-pitched yell echoed through the gymnasium. He wasn't sure what it was about that racket that set him off today. He'd been good— smiled when told, signed their autographs, and even posed for a handful of selfies. It wasn't fair. His head began to pound, irritation spiking.
He just wished they'd stop screaming. Fingers dug into his temples in search of relief. Hana-cchi would make them be quiet.
"To your left, Kise!"
"Oof—" the orange ball skittered past his fingers, "Sorry, Kasamatsu-senpai!"
Kasamatsu jogged past him, bending at the waist to pick up the wayward ball, "What's wrong with you, idiot? You've been off all day."
His shoulders slumped. He'd never been good with criticism. An odd mix of frustration and pity had Kise shrugging halfheartedly, "I don't know. I can't get out of my head—" his name was suddenly screamed out over the bleachers and his brow twitched, "And that isn't helping."
"Finally tired of your fangirls?" Kasamatsu dribbled the ball, eyeing the mass of girls warily, "We can kick them out."
Gosh, I wish. Kise waved him off, "No, no, they'll just come back later. It's better to deal with it now."
It wasn't what he wanted to say. Kise would love nothing more than to kick the large group out right now and bar them from ever taking another step in the gym, but he knew that wasn't fair. It wasn't his fans' fault he was in such a crappy mood— he usually loved their attention, but he just had so much on his mind.
Between the modeling and the photoshoots, his test scores, and basketball practice, Kise was quickly finding himself to be a bit overwhelmed. It was a new sensation. One he wasn't truly familiar with. In the past, he used his busy schedule to keep his mind off troublesome thoughts, but now he wished he could just sit down and think.
"You sure nothing's on your mind?" Palming the ball, his senpai raised a doubtful brow, "You look terrible, Kise."
The girls' screaming hiked in pitch and the words were spilling out before he could think to stop them, "I almost kissed Hana-cchi."
The sound of dribbling stopped. Daring to peek down at his senpai, Kise winced at the dumbfounded expression lining his senior's face. Moriyama and Kobari both had halted their drills to stare at him, expression varying from envious to incredulous. Dropping his ball, Hayakawa made a noise resemblant of an elephant before laughing, nearly hysterically.
Kasamatsu was the first to speak, "You did what?"
"At dinner," Kise elaborately unhelpfully, "We were eating dinner and I almost kissed her. Well, I did kiss her, but I didn't do it right—"
"You didn't kiss her right?" Kobari repeated, dumbfounded, "How do you mess that up?"
Kasamatsu held up a hand, eyes closing in pain as he forced himself to ask, "We're talking about Seirin's manager, right? Imamura-san? The freshman?"
Nodding, Kise explained, "We were on a date and she looked so cute and she was being so sweet and—"
"Stop, just stop," his captain sighed, scrubbing a hand over his head, "Please tell me this isn't going to bite our team in the ass."
He didn't have an answer to that. Wincing, Kise shrugged halfheartedly, "I don't think so. I'm pretty sure Hana-cchi liked it."
Another bout of silence spread through the team. Moriyama clutched at his head in pain, moaning to himself about how unfair it was for someone so dense to get the girl. Kobari was chuckling. He'd since abandoned the conversation in favor of practice, but Kise could still see the amused smirk denting his cheeks. His captain on the other hand—
"You're pretty sure she liked it," Kasamatsu deadpanned despite the growing blush staining his cheeks, "Kise— you didn't—" he waved a hand around, awkwardly trying to expand on his point, "You asked right?"
Kise blanched, "Was I supposed to?"
"Yes!" Moriyama interjected himself into the conversation, flailing between Kasamatsu and Kise with an accusing finger, "You always ask a beautiful woman for permission before kissing her! You should never steal a kiss from an innocent maiden!"
Making a noise in the background, Kobari disagreed, "I doubt you can call the manager innocent."
"Shut up, both of you," feeling a headache build, Kasamatsu groaned. He couldn't believe he had to be the one explaining this right now, "Yes, you're supposed to ask. You can't just go around—" he stumbled over his next words, "kissing girls. You're taking advantage of them."
"It's not like that—" Kise waved his arms in front of his chest, the accusations finally catching up on him, "It wasn't a real kiss. I just kissed her forehead!"
Kasamatsu breathed a sigh of pure relief, "Thank god."
"I can't believe you'd think that, senpai! I can't kiss her for real yet," Kise babbled on, unknowing of the confusion he was adding into the mix, "Midorima-cchi and Kuroko-cchi would kill me!"
"… what."
"I don't think Aomine-cchi would be happy either," Kise continued, oblivious, "He hasn't said anything, but I'm pretty sure he likes her too—"
Kasamatsu shoved his palms into his eyes and rubbed, hoping the words his teammate just spewed would vanish into the air. This was more information than he had any desire to know about. Beside him, Moriyama's finger fell, his face going slack as Kise continued to talk.
"Kise," Kobari cut in, morbid curiosity lining his face as he ventured to ask, "Just how many of your old teammates like Seirin's manager?"
Kise's babbling cut short, realization slamming into him like a train. Rubbing at the back of his neck, the ace managed to squeak out, "Well, it's kind of a funny story, senpai."
In an odd twist of fate, Kasamatsu found himself experiencing the urge to cry.
Seirin was going to kill him.
Seirin High School
Kuroko sneezed.
"Where the hell did you come from?" Kagami shrieked, jerking to the left at the sudden noise, "You can't just sneak up on people like that!"
Rubbing gently at his nose, Kuroko stared up at Kagami, "I was here the whole time."
He hadn't been. He'd arrived exactly five minutes ago, fifteen minutes after practice was set to start. It wasn't exactly his fault this time. Nigou had needed to use the restroom and Kuroko would prefer if he did it in the safety of the nearest patch of grass instead of the middle of Seirin's gymnasium. That was the last thing he'd need today.
"Bullshit," Kagami spat, but it lacked any true heat. Glancing past Kuroko's shoulder, the red-headed ace frowned, "Where's Hana? Thought she came with you."
Scanning the area, Kuroko hummed in faint irritation. He wasn't surprised that she was missing. He remembered her briefly telling him she'd be skipping practice, but he'd hoped there'd been a change of plans, "She's discussing something with Kiyoshi-san."
Kagami snorted, "Kiyoshi? Didn't know they were that close."
"Neither did I," Kuroko agreed. The smallest hint of satisfaction sank into his bones at Kagami's shared disbelief, "I was surprised as well."
Trying to hide his suddenly stiff arms, Kuroko tucked them behind his back. He didn't think he was behaving too oddly, but the looks Kagami continued to shoot at him begged to differ. Feeling his partner's stare digging into the side of his face, Kuroko shuffled. He peered up at his teammate once before adopting a carefully neutral expression.
His partner shot him an incredulous look, a scowl building over Kagami's face, "Are you jealous?"
Startled, Kuroko blinked, "Of course not."
"Right," Kagami shook his head, annoyance and mild wonder making his tone an odd mix of exasperation, "Of course not."
"I'm not jealous, Kagami-kun," Kuroko repeated. Firmly, this time.
"Uh-huh," the ace scoffed, rolling his eyes for good measure before running to the middle of the court to start his drills, "I'm sure."
Left alone to stand on the sidelines, Kuroko felt something hot creep up his neck. He laid a hand on his collar bone, trying to subtly peer down at his skin. It took him a moment to realize the heat and the tinge of red creeping up his flesh was a blush. Before anyone could comment on it, he jogged after his partner.
He was not jealous of Kiyoshi-san.
Not at all.
Too High School
Tucked into the bleachers in the gym, Aomine watched his teammates practice with a growing sneer.
This was all so pointless. He shouldn't even be here— why had he even bothered? He'd come to make Satsuki happy after their fallout, but he was quickly losing patience. Nothing his team offered him would benefit him in any way. They were working on evasive offensive measures, counter dribbles and jump stops.
God, it was embarrassing. Watching his teammates struggle through the simple movements, Aomine's lip lifted in disgust.
There was nothing to challenge him anymore.
He needed what he had in Teiko before he outclassed them. An open field of opponents with varying strength who weren't afraid to play dirty. He'd spent years waiting for that miracle player to arrive, but it was pointless. No one in Japan could stand up to him. He was leagues above all his peers, and worst of all, he was bored.
Drumming his fingers on his knees, Aomine's eyes went half-lidded as he watched Sakurai stumble through a pass, "Bah, idiot."
Weak. They were all so weak.
Tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks, Aomine stood to his full height. He ignored Satsuki's cry and Wakamatsu's cursing as he lumbered down the bleachers and out of the gym door. The thick soles of his white tennis shoes slapped against the tile flooring and Aomine found himself glaring down at them, a scowl building between his brow as he remembered their association.
That damn night— hanging out with Satsuki and Imamura, scamming the cashier, finding Nudoru. Even his memories of that night were tainted with the rosy sheen of adolescence. If he focused hard enough, he could almost feel the happiness. It made his already cold heart harder, nostalgia turning his thoughts bitter.
"Fucking Imamura," he spat, throwing his head back to focus on the ceiling instead, "Wish she'd just go away."
It would have been easier if she'd stayed gone. He'd managed her leaving with the same anger he'd directed toward everyone else who'd abandoned him in his life, but she continued to stick around, crawling through his social circle, and talking to him like he was beneath her. It infuriated him and caused him to lash out, tongue barbed with wire meant to fray.
He'd wanted her to feel his pain, he wanted her to suffer.
Of course, I was going to leave. She'd nearly laughed at him, unknowing how her brutal admission had made his heart harden then later crack. I was tired of you telling me I was annoying, that I was a bitch, that I was getting in the way.
The faintest remnants of guilt tugged at the ragged edge of his consciousness as he remembered how he spoke to her.
He was cruel, he'd never deny that, but her face during Interhigh as she stood in the stadium hallway was something else. He'd never seen her cry before, but the sight of tears dripping down pale cheeks as she let that Uoya kid hold her steady wasn't one he'd soon forget. Before he could catch himself, his fist smacked into the wall, the concrete block giving nothing away as he stomped through the hallway.
The double doors crashed shut behind him, leaving Aomine to stand alone.
Of course, it was raining. He scowled up at the dark sky, a sneer curling his lip as the rain continued its assault. It was another unwelcome reminder of just how badly he'd screwed up. A sardonic chuckle snaked its way out of his throat. Fate sure did like to screw with him.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared out past the school's gates and reminisced.
It was always raining when things went to shit. His game against Kamikazi happened during the rain, leaving Aomine to walk home alone with only the knowledge that his closest rival could never stand against him. From then on, he knew the rain was cursed. It followed him through his first fight with Kuroko and his argument with Satsuki.
It rained the day Imamura left too.
Clenching his fists tight, Aomine prowled out into the downpour. He didn't have time to think about this shit. The water immediately sank into his skin, drowning his uniform with a cold chill, but he was too gone to give a damn. He wanted to go home and collapse in his bed, too tired to deal with the emotional bullshit the rain always wrung out of him.
As he stomped through the front gates, he dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
Water dripped down the screen and made it hard to navigate but Aomine squinted against the downfall. His fingers scrolled over the keyboard and through the contact list, looking for his mom's number but hesitating as a formerly frequent contact came up. Fate was teasing him yet again. He tried to wipe the condensation off the screen, but the dial tone alerted him to his mistake.
Staring at the name on the screen, Aomine hesitated to hang up. The dial tone rang once then twice before an achingly familiar voice picked up, "Aomine? What the hell? Are you okay?"
The phone slammed shut with a crack.
x
You guys overwhelmed me with reviews last chapter and I can't thank you enough. You all have given me so many words of encouragement and strength and honestly, the sweet reviews are the reason why I work so hard to make this story better. I hope you all stick with me as I continue chugging forward to finish this bad boy up and please, don't hesitate to reach out! I love hearing from you all and hope you're all staying healthy and happy!
Thank you again!
